Graves
by Lulubird
Summary: Twelve year old Kenzi visits the cemetery to talk to a very important person. One shot.


No one ever came to the cemetery in the middle of winter. Snow sat in drifts against the brick walls and gravestones and an icy wind rattled the braches of skeletal trees. There weren't even any animals foraging in the rotting, slimy leaves blanketing the ground.

The place was deserted, which was why Kenzi was there. She came at least once a week but she always tried to pick a time when others were likely to be gone. The creepiness and shadows of an empty cemetery didn't worry her like they would most people. She sat on one of the benches with the wetness of the most recent snowfall soaking into her jackets and pants. She was wearing three coats but not because of the weather.

The twelve year old dropped her battered satchel onto the ground without regard. There was nothing precious inside.

She brought her legs up to her chest, her breath frosting in front of her, and stared at the head stone she had come to talk to.

"Hi dad."

She paused, like always, giving him time to reply. It never mattered that she couldn't hear him. She'd refused to believe that he would leave her alone, so therefore he had to be somewhere, had to be listening. He'd been a good dad for the nine years she'd had him, and then he'd gotten sick and he'd died and left her with her bitch of a mother and now The Stepfather to boot. Even though she was twelve and too old to believe in fairytales, she still needed to believe that her dad wouldn't just abandon her like that.

She played with a toggle on her coat, enjoying the human silence and the wind howling through the branches above her. Her eyes traced his name carved in stone.

"I've just come to tell you that I might not be able to visit for a little while," she spoke out loud. "I'm going to stay with some friends and I don't know how often I'll be able to get back to this side of town." She took a deep breath that shuddered as it entered her body. She felt the hot prickling of tears at the back of her eyeballs but she hadn't cried in a long, long time and she wasn't going to now.

"I don't want you to worry about me, but I can't stay at home anymore." She gave a small, bitter smile, wondering if he was rolling his eyes at her. She could imagine what he'd say.

"Mackenzie, if I had a dollar for every time you had come here telling me you were going to run away, I could buy myself that luxury yacht I always wanted."

It was true. Since her mother had married The Stepfather two years ago, she'd made at least a monthly pilgrimage to this very spot and poured out her anger and hatred to her dad. She'd said time and time again that she had finally had it and that she was leaving for good this time. Sometimes she even did leave. She'd been running away since she was ten, since the first time her other had said she was remarrying less than a year after her dad's death. Sometimes she even got as far as the border, but she always wound up back at the house one way or another.

This time was different though.

She let the breath out of her body, feeling the way her chest quivered in the cold air. She dug her hands deeper into her pockets, making them snug under her layers of coats. Two of them were stolen but the one closest to her skin had been a present from her dad for her ninth birthday. It didn't fit her anymore but she hadn't been going to leave it behind.

When he'd moved in and claimed their family as his own, The Stepfather had barely left anything of her dad's untouched. Kenzi had sat in silent rage in her room and watched out the window as he tossed clothing and papers and belongings on a bonfire that burned black smoke.

Fresh rage filled her at the memory and her teeth made a horrible sound as she ground them together. Her eyes moved back to the headstone and she forced her body to relax. She hadn't come here to think of Him.

Oh how many times, when he was screaming or throwing things or tossing her into the closet, had she wished that her dad could magically come back and slay the man that dared pretend be her parent. If her dad had been there now she wouldn't be cold and hungry and running away for the final time. He'd never have let anyone or anything hurt her.

The hot prickling in her eyes came again and this time she had to dig the heel of her palms into her eye sockets to prevent the tears from falling. She stayed like that for a few moments, taking deep breaths to control her emotions.

When she dropped her hands, it was snowing again.

"You always said you wanted me to be happy, dad. And I know you wouldn't approve of running from my problems, but I can't be happy in that house. I'd rather freeze to death on the streets."

Her voice trailed off into silence because she knew that it was a very possible outcome. She didn't really care anymore if that was the way it went, but she knew her dad would be disappointed with her. He'd always told her she was his strong, tough, brave little girl. She'd always tried so hard to be all of that, but even she had her limits.

"I'll be as careful as I can, promise," she spoke again. A slight smile came to her lips. "You taught me some goods tricks, dad, so you know I'll be okay."

She unfolded herself from the uncomfortable bench, feeling how the cold had already stiffened up her limbs and made it painful to move. She pushed through it, knowing there would be a lot worse to come, and crossed to the headstone. Ignoring the soggy leaves and grass and the patches of greying snow, she dropped to her knees in front of it.

The stone was rough beneath her fingers as she pressed her hands either side of his name. It was strangely warm, as if it was alive and responding to her touch.

She closed her eyes, leaning her forehead till it just grazed the stone, and exhaled. If she concentrated hard, she could just about pretend that the roughness against her skin was the stubble from her dad's beard that he hadn't yet shaved and the sighing of the wind and banging of the branches, was his breathing in and out in time with his heartbeat as she sat curled in his lap.

A few blocks away a dog burst into a frenzy of barking and shattered her carefully constructed world. Her eyes flew open and she was looking at grey stone once more, not her dad's favourite striped shirt. The pain of losing him crashed down on her all over again and the icicled air stabbed at her lungs as she gasped.

"Wish me luck," she whispered, and lightly kissed the top of the headstone. She climbed stiffly to her feet, leaves and dirt sticking to her damp clothing. She was already shivering uncontrollably and she hadn't found a place to stay tonight yet.

"I'll see you soon," she murmured as she turned away, picking up her satchel and slinging it over her shoulder. She wasn't a religious person but she had a small flicker of faith, a tiny spark of hope that there could be something more to death than eternal nothing.

She had enough faith that, even if she never made it back to this cemetery, it didn't mean she wouldn't be keeping her word.

* * *

**A/N: I've only been watching Lost Girl for a few weeks now, but I've always been intrigued by the little glimpses we're given into Kenzi's background. So I decided to construct a scene from it using some of the things we know - that she began running away at 10, that she hates hospitals and sick people, that she seemed to like her biological father and knew him for some of her childhood at least. **

**So I hope you enjoyed reading what I came up with, and I'd really appreciate it if you could take the time to review.**

**- Lu**


End file.
